Yet all how beautiful! Pillars of pearl
Propping the cliffs above, stalactites bright
From the ice roof read more

Yet all how beautiful! Pillars of pearl
Propping the cliffs above, stalactites bright
From the ice roof depending; and beneath,
Grottoes and temples with their crystal spires
And gleaming columns radiant in the sun.

And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.

Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.

His breath like silver arrows pierced the air,
The naked earth crouched shuddering at his feet,
His read more

His breath like silver arrows pierced the air,
The naked earth crouched shuddering at his feet,
His finger on all flowing waters sweet
Forbidding lay--motion nor sound was there:--
Nature was frozen dead,--and still and slow,
A winding sheet fell o'er her body fair,
Flaky and soft, from his wide wings of snow.

On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence.

On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence.

People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare read more

People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.

Every winter,
When the great sun has turned his face away,
The earth goes down into a read more

Every winter,
When the great sun has turned his face away,
The earth goes down into a vale of grief,
And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,
Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay--
Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.

Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale
and shabby, old and sullen.

Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale
and shabby, old and sullen.

The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in
winter; the fleshy, in summer. I read more

The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in
winter; the fleshy, in summer. I should say winter had given the
bone and sinew to literature, summer the tissues and the blood.